


His Russian Sunshine

by sendoffire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Awkward teammates, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendoffire/pseuds/sendoffire
Summary: Lance's Formula 1 career has had its ups and downs, but he always managed to deal with them. Today's accident wasn't event that spectacular, yet somehow it hurt him more than he would've expected.Luckily, he has someone to help him through it, even if he doesn't think that this person will be the one to bring him out of his dark place.





	His Russian Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Inspired by an amazing group of fic writers, I decided to join the F1 AO3 community myself!  
> First fics never work too well for me, but I hope at least some people out there will like it :)
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and (healthy) critique!
> 
> (See the end notes for any translations!)

Oh, how much he would give to erase today, forget it ever happened and move on to Mexico, with that uplifting mood he had just over two hours ago.

Alas, he does not wield the power of time, and therefore is now forced to stand in the media pen in front yet another reporter who’s eager to ask him about that collision. Lance huffs in irritation, only half-listening to the dark-haired woman on the other side of the fence.

Yes, he does admit some lack of judgement on his part, going into that corner.  
No, he doesn’t want to discuss Alonso not getting a penalty, it’s not his place to decide upon that.   
No, today’s incident has not broken his spirit, he’s determined to bounce back in Mexico.

 _Well, as much as the car allows_ , thinks Lance to himself, quietly.

The female reporter looks like she’s about to ask something else, clearly not satisfied with his non-controversial answers, however his PR swoops in to save the day and is already leading the Canadian to the side, and Lance feels himself relaxing just a tiny bit… Only to become tense again, when positioned in front of yet another journalist. He really is going to punch somebody if they ask him one more bloody question about the collision on the first lap.

Apparently, that frustration reflects on his face and reflects quite harshly, because the young man standing opposite of him gulps uncomfortably and, his voice wavering, asks a completely random question about Lance’s opinion on the car today. The Canadian smirks to himself.  _At least I can still intimidate the media._

The routine question helps him to regain his emotional control, and in a couple minutes he’s off again, this time – for good, to his great delight. Young man exhales in relief, leaving the media pen following his PR. All he wanted now was to return to his hotel and flop down on his bed, maybe text his sister to ask if she wants to go out later, and then have a long nap, leave all the stress behind him at least for a couple of hours.

He wanted to scream to the world through the biggest speaker that he did not choose to be his father’s son, and that his family’s fortune does not define him.  
It probably wouldn’t be useful, but at least he’d get it out of his system.

Suddenly, a pair of warm hands comes to rest lightly on his lower back and, caught up in his thoughts, Lance can’t help but make a high-pitched sound in response. Quickly turning his head to his right, brown eyes are met with a warm, concerned gaze of the grey ones.

“Всё нормально?”

The voice is rough, and sounds even harsher in his native language, but to Lance it’s a sound of something light and very warm, that calms him down instantly. A small grin adorns the younger driver’s plump lips, and he nods every so slightly, desperately trying not to be weirded out by Sergey’s hands that were still rested just above his bum.

“I’m okay,” he whispers back, not really knowing how he knew exactly what the Russian asked. Maybe just a lucky guess, maybe something more. He really wasn’t in the mood to search for the answer. The blonde furrows his eyebrows, but nods in response, taking a step back and retracting from Lance’s personal space (which leaves the latter feeling strangely empty).

Sergey looks like he’s about to say something else, but the moment is broken as a couple of McLaren mechanics pass them by, not even trying to hide the angry stares they sent in Lance’s direction. The Canadian stiffs instantly, following them with his eyes until they disappear in the McLaren hospitality, and only then does he exhales again, not knowing that he was holding his breath all this time. Then, all of the sudden, that breath turns into a broken half-sob half-exhale, as he slumps his shoulders and hides his face in his hands, not wanting anybody to see his moment of weakness.

The same warm hands are back on his body again, this time circling around Lance’s shoulders, hiding him from any curious eyes, and a second later the younger driver feels himself being dragged out of the paddock in the direction of the parking lot, while the hoarse voice is mumbling random soothing words in Russian into his ear.

“Ты в порядке, я с тобой, всё будет хорошо…»

He really does need to start learning Russian.

~

The drive back is comfortably quiet. Sergey is behind the wheel, guiding his rented Mercedes through the busy road towards their hotel, with Lance sitting next to him in the passenger seat, watching the passing landscape. Neither say a word during the trip, Lance still trying to gather his emotions and Sergey just being happy that his younger teammate is safe from the vicious tongues of the media.

Glancing sideways at the man beside him, the Russian takes his right hand off the wheel and reaches to grab Lance’s left wrist, not fully registering what he’s doing yet. The Canadian hums in surprise and turns his head to first look at his hand, now enclosed in a warm grasp of his teammate’s palm, and then slowly lift his gaze up to Sergey’s face.

Russian’s cheeks are clearly tinted pink; however, the older man does not acknowledge him in the slightest, acting like them holding hands is the most normal thing to do.

Lance hums, but lets it go. He doesn’t, however, do the same with Sergey’s hand. It’s too warm and comfortable to let go of.

They arrive to the hotel’s parking in a couple of minutes, Sergey parks his car not too far away from the entrance, and when the Russian tears his palm away from Lance’s hold, to exit the car, the Canadian can’t help but feel a pang of sadness in his chest. Following his teammate, he too climbs out of the Mercedes and gets surprised by the blonde for the third time this day, when the older man comes to him and takes his hand in his larger one again.

“Be careful, I might get used to this,” Lance jokes involuntary, grinning at the man in front of him. Sergey smiles his unique, kind and open smile, that has Lance weak in his knees.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Sergey replies easily, before tugging the younger man inside the hotel lobby.

They pass the lobby rather quickly, heading towards the lifts, where the older Williams driver presses the button to the fifth floor, where most of their team resides for the weekend. Sergey is still holding his hand, and that leaves Lance even more flabbergasted. He’s Russian, surely, he can’t be…

His thoughts are interrupted by them arriving at the needed floor and Sergey not hesitating to pull him further, until they arrive at his hotel room’s door.

Unable to bear the slight awkwardness of the situation anymore, Lance tugs on his teammate’s hand to attract his attention and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. The Russian only smiles and proceeds to open the door, entering the chambers. Still attached to him by their hands, Lance has no other option than to follow him suit.

Sergey’s room is neat and tidy, however, Lance was kinda expecting that: knowing how quiet and concentrated his teammate always is, it was almost impossible to imagine his room being in a chaotic state.

“Go take the bed,” suddenly says Sergey, his Russian accent showing off much more than usual, indicating the nervousness of the older driver. Letting go of Lance’s hand, Sergey disappears in the direction of his suitcase, most likely looking for some clothes for Lance to wear.

The Canadian follows Sergey’s words and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, hesitantly playing with his fingers.

Not even half a minute later the Russian returns with two t-shirts and two pairs of sweats in his hands, throwing one of each in Lance’s direction. Sweats hit the floor while the t-shirt flies straight into young man’s head and Lance grumbles slightly, removing the clothing item from his hair, which immediately go into ‘spiky mode’, making Sergey laugh out loud.

The sound makes Lance’s heart flutter.

Sergey quickly changes into his bed clothes, not minding Lance’s presence, and the Canadian slowly follows his example, exchanging his jeans and team polo for much more comfortable pyjamas.

“Забирайся,” quietly says Sergey, motioning to his bed, while undoing the covers. Lance rolls his eyes, but obediently follows, climbing underneath the thick blanket.

“You really should stop talking in Russian to me.”  _Please, never stop._

“You really should start learning it then,” Sergey teases back, sinking down on his pillow while continuing to watch his teammate through long, light eyelashes.

Lance feels awkward, the reality suddenly hits him: he’s sitting in the same bed with his teammate – who was definitely straight, last time he checked! – and is about to sleep here, apparently? He just lays there, continuing to stare at Sergey, asking him “What do you want? What are you doing?”

The Russian is quick to reply to his silent questions, in his own manner. Having had enough of Canadian’s hesitation, the older man just pulls Lance by the hand towards his chest, making the youngster squeak and flop down, hitting his head on Sergey’s shoulder. The Russian is quick to wrap his arms around Lance’s torso to keep him in place, as he buries his face in Canadian’s soft hair, inhaling their scent with a content hum.

Lance, meanwhile, is legit scared to move. Don’t get him wrong, he thoroughly enjoys being pressed against Sergey’s broad chest, and the Russian nose tickling the top of this head does things to him, but… Like, what?!

Just a couple of months ago they barely talked to each other, then the Truth or Lie video happened and they kind of got closer together, at least actually talking to each other.

And now – this.

Pulling at the last strands of courage he has left, Lance wiggles himself from the tight Russian hold and turns his head to the side, to look at his teammate.

“What are we doing?” He asks, suddenly feeling extra brave.

“I believe in English it’s called ‘spooning’,” Sergey answers in the most serious tone possible, while looking in the chocolate eyes of the man beneath him. Lance huffs annoyed with such answer. Did his teammate spend too much time with a certain Aussie driver?

“I get that! Why are we doing it?” Lance tries again, not ready to give up that easily. Sergey signs, and the Canadian knows that his next answer will not be a joke or an attempt to avoid the question.

“Because all I want to do now is protect you from the outside world,” the Russian finally murmurs, suddenly serious. “Because they’re all wrong about you. You’re a superb driver, you just need a real chance to prove it.”

Lance blinks, not knowing how to respond to that. He was expecting everything and anything, except genuine emotions.

“And if you ask me,” Sergey continues, his blue-grey eyes sparkling in the dimness of the hotel room, “Fernando was the one to blame for your crash. He turned into you, you had nowhere to go. It’s all just unfair.”

Lance finds himself speechless. That doesn’t happen often, mind you. He looks at the blonde man in front of him, unable to tear his gaze from his face. Having finished his small tirade, Sergey slumps back a bit, seeming unsure of himself, and Canadian decided he’s having none of it.

Thrusting his body forwards, he again falls into Sergey’s arms, finding his face dangerously close to the Russian’s. The older man gasps in surprise, but Lance doesn’t give him time to analyse the situation, closing the gap between them and capturing his thin, warm lips with his own. Sergey stills beneath him, clearly not expecting he situation to take this turn, but quickly recovers from the shock and gladly returns the kiss, tracing his fingers up Lance’s left arm to squeeze his shoulder affectionally.

Canadian hums contently and with one last lick at Sergey’s lower lip retracts himself, glancing hesitantly in the grey eyes that in that very moment carried all that was precious for Lance in this world. Lance smiles shyly, and that smile grows, when Sergey sends one of his own in return.

“Thank you,” Lance’s whisper is barely audible, but the most important words are always loud enough for those, who wants to listen.

“Всё, ради тебя,” simply replies Sergey, and Lance can’t suppress his light laugh.

Suddenly, the world doesn’t seem such a dark and miserable place. Not as long as he has his personal Russian sunshine with him, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Всё нормально? - Everything alright?  
> Ты в порядке, я с тобой, всё будет хорошо... - You're fine, I'm here, everything's going to be alright...  
> Забирайся. - Climb in.  
> Всё, ради тебя. - Anything for you.


End file.
